“I’m better than that and you should be, too!

text by Gintare Parulyte

Gintare Parulyte

Editor

Lithuanian-born Gintare Parulyte is an actress, freelance writer and obsessive craftswoman spending her precious time juggling projects between Luxembourg and Berlin. Having at times difficulties to blend in because of her uninhibited height, she cherishes the fact that writing is the only occupation that keeps her away from interrupting people when they speak.

What some may consider the central point of a celebration, a moment secretly craved for and cheerfully welcomed, usually provokes no other emotion besides despair and panic in me: the acceptance ceremony and the naturally-induced public opening of gifts. It hasn’t always been that way. Brought up in the Soviet Union by young parents deprived of any material wealth, I was genuinely overwhelmed by simple and unique objects. A basket of walnuts crowned with a metal nutcracker for my third birthday was an instant hit. The move to the West changed things. All in all, most birthday presents were other kids’ stressful mothers’ attempts to prevent their child from arriving empty-handed. Nothing personal, merely safe choices based on forced politeness. At times, the content beneath the wrapping was revealed to the recipient at the same time as to the kid who brought it. More often than not, this lead to even more uncomfortable situations of being given the same thing the kids were given by their respective mothers on their birthday, resulting in competitive glances and unpleasant arguments during school breaks.

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The tipping point in this matter occurred quite unexpectedly. I came face to face with the intimate garbage from the past whilst tidying my teenage room, following endless requests from my mother, long after I had left home to pursue a life abroad with my boyfriend. Her initial polite hints to undertake this feat gradually evolved into angry and strict orders driven by her desire to transform this unused space into her future private dressing bin. The overarching theme of these past gifts was revealed during this short, yet intense feng-shui-transformer-mission. With a few years of perspective under my belt, gifts from “back then” appeared ugly and pitifully useless. Dusty drawers and claustrophobic shelves revealed a collection of one-hit-wonder treasures, quickly demoted to the discount bin of a local record store, the trashiest example being a vulgar sculpture of a man’s waist demonstrating a shrunk, sadly hanging penis, apparently once destined to divert attention from homework or make me laugh. Maybe. More eye-rolling discoveries that don’t deserve to be mentioned followed during this unemotional rummage through my past

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After gathering this memorabilia into one big bin bag, it suddenly dawned on me that actually things haven’t really changed with age and time. There is no reason for me to think that by throwing away material trash from the past I will eliminate a corresponding mindset. These gifts were not useless because they were purchased and given when we were young and naïve teenagers with more humour than taste. We still continue to receive and to give space-consuming and dust-collecting nonsense. What I am trying to say is that the fundamental features of choosing and giving presents have persisted despite growing up. The crap hasn’t disappeared; it merely transformed itself into something apparently more subtle. It is not about plastic candleholders or shiny ugly brooches anymore, but about slightly nauseating perfumes, bad literature and tasteless design objects. Basically junk became more expensive, not more personal.

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The annoying part about presents we frown at is their symbolic aimlessness, juxtaposed to the very real desire to feel special during specific occasions. One hopes to be worthy of effort and investment in terms of love, time and thought. Also, theoretically speaking, we are supposed to receive gifts that people think we’d actually like, or even love. What happens then when we unwrap a collection of plastic cutlery unable to be used with any food, but apparently cool because created by an important artist and purchased in a museum shop abroad? Or a gimmicky something from one of those touristy gift shops that have appeared like warts, unwanted and difficult to ignore, over the past couple of years, selling kitchen towels or cushion covers with quotes meant to make you laugh (“Keep calm and insert cliche phrase here” springs to mind). You know, those that you encountered on “pinterest” gazillion times before last April.

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But aside from the materialistic side of gift selection, a few questions of personal and emotional nature (un)consciously arise: How do our friends and family view us? What don’t they get about us and why? It’s tricky to know who bears the responsibility for shitty presents: is it us, because of our inability to communicate our taste and who we really are? Or them, for not trying to discern our taste? Whatever the answer may be, I established a simple rule to minimise future misery caused by cheesy presents: I stopped opening presents in front of the people who gave it to me, my boyfriend, who has exquisite taste and knows about my dilemma, my grandparents who I see very rarely and my mother who is always overexcited being the only exceptions to the rule. My desire to avoid opening gifts publicly comes from my lack of talent to lie and fake facial expressions. From my inability (which I never wish to transform) to look someone straight in the eye and proclaim the traditional “Thank you, I love it, that’s exactly what I’ve always wanted” line, with its necessary upward inflections and a matching broad smile that take us further away from the truth each and every time.

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The crucial thing to know is that in this entire gift-giving process, it is not about what lies beneath the wrapping, it’s what happens before the wrapping. It’s about being willing to care (more) and to believe in one’s own power of creation or creativity. For those of you who now feel like shaking your anorexic wallets to counter my point and save your ass: you can drop that shit right now. My opinion is based on numerous personal experiences that prove that appreciation can be conveyed easily and dead cheap. I once got a card from a friend, who listed all the ways that I influenced her life. It was a small list written with an unsharpened pencil that went straight to the heart and exited my body through my eyes in the form of streaming tears of joy. Another friend, after finding out about a big dream of mine I really needed support for, offered me a horseshoe, his own personal talisman, with careful instructions of how to hang it in order to attract the most luck possible. A work colleague handed me an envelope sheltering a lottery ticket and a short note promising a dinner at his place with a three-course menu of my choice in case the scratched ticket wouldn’t surprise me with the anticipated millions. The following week we were in his living room having dinner together with endless talks, endless cigarettes and a family of my favourite Portuguese rosé wine for €3,45 a bottle. Offering beautiful, meaningful presents is a skill and it should become a past-time that we all look forward to.

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Why do I remember the few great gifts rather than the constant flow of crap? How come my brain manages to precisely enumerate the few presents that resonated with me and clearly refrains from being able to recall even a humble top10 of the remaining shit? Because love and good intentions always overshadow laziness and indifference. Gestures of kindness that demand effort are starting to vanish and it is our mission to prevent them from disappearing for good. I have this one friend who often organizes dinner parties at her place and prepares small take-away boxes with homemade bread or pastries for her guests, to be consumed during next day’s (hangover) breakfast. She is known for trying especially hard to make ordinary situations, as well as her environment, feel special and people don’t seem to get enough of her. Her urge to make an effort became an encompassing philosophy that expanded to every domain of her life: her hairdos are always special, her home interior, her kids’ toys and the majority of things edible are inspiring results of her valued reflex to simply give a fuck. And this is exactly what I wish us to do. Simply give a fuck. To become creators of small meaningful somethings. To be excited to share our ingenuity and love for life with those around us. Now use your coffee break to ponder about what would draw a genuine smile to your friend’s face. Or be active on the spot. Take your scissors and pens and whatever else you’ve got around you and show the people you love what you’ve got! Open your kitchen cupboard and bake something from those leftovers of yours that, when mixed, become a delicious delight. There is always flour and nuts that are desperately looking forward to feel useful. Or better: be broke. The best ideas come from the rewarding, yet underrated situation of having nothing to fall back on.